Alone in Erkalla
by Winter Skye
Summary: An epic of love, deceit and betrayal spanning the ages, from the legends of ancient Mesopotamia to the modern day, the Tok'ra and beyond.
1. Wash It Away

DISCLAIMER : Stargate is the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. No infringement on copyrights and trademarks is intended. All original material is copyrighted to the author.

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NOTES : My previous Hailey/Maybourne story Triple Cross will eventually be rewritten to fit in with this new series. 

SPOILERS : Eventually to the end of Season 7 and beyond. 

PREVIOUSLY : After Maybourne and Jack O'Neill failed to find the Furling in _Paradise Lost_, Maybourne was left with the Tok'ra. With his valuable knowledge, Maybourne soon became a host to the Tok'ra _Erragal_. 

Captain Jennifer Hailey's POV.

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The calm of the night was comforting; the cold, the quiet, the deep, dark emptiness put my thoughts and the pain into perspective. 

My empty stomach convulsed, but I didn't complain. Acid reflux burned my throat; the spasms had stopped, but the bitter, metallic taste never went away. The rancid odor from the hole I'd dug filled my nostrils, but I didn't move. Blood and bile filled the back of my mouth, and I smiled; a harsh cough, a quick turn of my head, and it was all easily spat into the hole, joining the rest, the remains of my last meal. 

A long, deep breath of cold night air brought a moment's relief. The chill of moisture evaporating from my face eased the inflammation around my eyes as it scratched at my cheeks; my lungs ached with the distress and the muscles in my arms still twitched involuntarily as I stared up at the stars. 

By my reckoning I'd covered at least sixty kilometers of alien country and low hills in the last day, still with an almost full pack strapped to my back. My skin bled and itched from the urine and the sweat drying all over my body. I'd run purely on adrenaline; flying way over the highs of unfettered freedom across the empty savannah; crawling through the lows of chafing straps scraping away raw flesh. 

It was all part of purging my mind and body of the comforts I'd grown used to working the higher numbers. As a scientist I'd put in plenty of lab time; as an athlete I'd run plenty of errands; but as a marksman, and as a pilot, my feet had been kept firmly on the ground. 

The higher numbers had taught me discipline and respect, but not blind obedience. Even so, I'd progressed from SG-19, to SG-14, to a support position with the diplomatic unit to prove I could keep my big mouth shut. My reputation always preceded me; every major, every captain had started out glancing at me, looking for contradictions every time they gave an order. If anything I'd grown too introspective, too thoughtful, losing the edge that had marked me out as different in the first place. 

Every trip through the stargate had been just that. Each one had offered just enough to keep my curiosity above the boredom threshold. I knew when I was being kept out of the way, when I was being used; and when to roll over. It had only been a matter of time until the rules changed. 

So now I was on my own. 

The exhilaration washed over me as I rested my body through the alien twilight. In the distance the sky had burned a deep red as the sun set; overhead, the sky had fluoresced through the purest blue to the most vivid purple as darkness descended to a black darker than ebony, richer than sable studded with ruby and sapphire and diamond. 

Five days of solitude and countless hours of punishing effort were taking their toll on my body and mind. The days were hot and dry and long; the nights were cold and bleak but filled with blissful dreams. So much better than any opiate, I dared to take a small sip from my water bottle. 

It was so tempting to give in to the rapture. 

I was tired, filthy and crawling with lice but my mind sang with the euphoria of starvation and dehydration. The ache behind my blood-shot eyes drilled into my head. Morphine only dulled the pain, always leaving me needing more. And as the nightly aurora began its psychedelic display my whole body heaved as I laughed uncontrollably. Smack, acid, speed? Even free-basing crack couldn't do it. Hadn't done it. There was nepenthe in my med-kit, but no strength left in my body to fetch it. I sighed as my bladder emptied itself again, bringing welcome warmth to legs going numb with cold. 

The newly familiar stars shone brightly, beyond the light display of charged particles streaming through this alien planet's magnetic field, beyond the pain, beyond the ecstasy, I struggled with myself not to cry. 

Above all, I was determined not to cry. 

Every day stretched my endurance to the limit, almost to perfection. I was well aware they were toying with me; each mental and physical test leaving me wanting – demanding – more. For the first time in my life I was living on the extreme of my abilities, testing myself, living to die to prove the faith _he_ had in me. 

Back in General Hammond's office, the old Colonel who'd put forward this assignment had warned me that it would be uncompromising; even Hammond had cautioned me against it. But the snake inside Harry... the way he'd looked at me, not only with hope but honestly with fear and dread, and maybe even a little compassion, had only served to make me more determined. 

Day by day, klick by klick, I was slowly falling for him, for Erragal, the Tok'ra inside Harry. Erragal was plying me with logic and reason, delighting in my obstinacy. The pressure was as relentless as the highs that were so unbelievable the pain never went away. Harry still bitched and complained, not least at the regime Erragal imposed on his old body, but even he smiled now and then as he found time to chomp on stale cigars and drink warm beers. 

I allowed myself the luxury of the moisture filling my eyes, a few lost tears escaping into the night. In a few hours we'd be reunited. But I wouldn't cry as the little death took me, stealing away the last of my energy as I fell asleep. 

... 

The small white sun rose slowly to bring another clear day. I'd already stretched and gone through my morning exercises to put life and feeling back into my bones and muscles. Already, I'd filled in the small hole I'd dug to crap in, ignoring the small, ugly black worms that wriggled everywhere. 

I took my time to eat my meager protein rations slowly as I stripped out of the Tok'ra clothes I wore. Black scabs peeled away spilling bright red blood; fresh blisters burst open revealing soft white flesh. They didn't matter, my body was already a mass of scars. And where my skin wasn't cut or torn it was various shades of yellow, black and blue from old and new bruises. I dressed the worst of the open wounds with salve and bandages from my med-kit, letting the rest dry in the warm air. 

Erragal had insisted on the protein and the med-kit, cautioning against the stronger drugs, but unwilling to risk me not having them. In time I would learn to do without any comforts, but I still had to dress again in the same excrement-covered clothes. 

I didn't care; I was so alive I was crawling with it. 

The world I'd left behind was so sterile. A cut or scrape would demand a booster of some kind or other. My immune system had been eroded away over the years by shots and antibiotics, flushing away bacteria, screwing with my body, creating a dependency. 

Just this last time through, old Doc Fraiser had fixed her beady little eyes on me... I shuddered at the memory. Fraiser would have filled me with pills like they were grains of rice, not knowing any better, an ignorant tool of the drug cartels' goal of exploitation and profit. That was one reason why I dressed as a Tok'ra, so that they couldn't take away my clothes, so they wouldn't want me around longer than necessary. 

It didn't stop me from wincing as I pulled on my boots. Yet my lungs filled with air that was fresh and clean, oxygen-rich and chemical-free. I shouldered my pack, pulling the straps tight as I walked, increasing my pace to a dog-trot that I could maintain forever. I'd marked my location by the stars the night before, scornful of the GPS I'd been taught to use at the Academy. The earlier unforgiving pace I'd set myself had paid off, and I was a good half a day closer than Harry would expect. 

The pace and the rhythm freed my spirit; my body ran on across acres of open countryside while my mind filed away my thoughts and emotions. I was desperate for a shower; it was the last luxury I didn't want to give up. I needed delousing and worming, if only for Harry's sake. Every day I pushed myself, always approaching the peak of physical condition, only to push harder still to realize just how much more I was capable of. 

And Harry loved to quote the choicest sections of my file back at me, but he always came back to the same one. _"Shoot him again,"_ he'd laugh as he tore at me. I'd suffered the vicious sting of a Zat more than enough times; but so had Harry. I'd been flayed until I understood the purity of pain, my mind and body cut open. I'd been shot and beaten and whipped until my screams didn't fade even when I slept. Bones had been broken – as had Harry's jaw – but not my conviction — _"Tok'ra, heal thyself,"_ I'd laughed back in his face. 

All this I filed away and put into context. Harry's paunch had gone the same way as his beard. He still had a hankering for dogs and other offal, but considering what we usually ate, perhaps that wasn't too bad. Erragal had rekindled his taste for tobacco; in return Erragal enjoyed beer that was warm. Anything but coffee. Still, he was harder and leaner. He was a top class analyst given to bad taste and even worse jokes, but Erragal kept the worst of him in check. He wasn't all bad. 

And still I ran. 

I ran until I saw the ragged row of crosses in the distance. I laughed out loud at Harry's handiwork, pulling my Zat automatically, checking the load. I'd chased my shadow for hours, mentally calculating and adjusting my course against the white star as I ran; if Harry hadn't moved, I'd run right over him inside twenty minutes. 

_"Tag?"_ I sent our usual greeting. 

_"No."_ The single word came back. 

_"Fuck you!"_ I holstered my Zat. A long crawl through the scrub would have scratched a few itches, but now I could approach without caution. 

_"You're welcome,"_ I heard, before the bright flash of transport rings lit up the plateau. 

I cursed my temper. Harry liked to encourage my _individuality_, but it was Erragal who'd welcomed me back. I ran the last kilometer, not wanting to keep him waiting, only slowing as I passed through the line of crosses, grinning at the curses shouted at me. 

And I was sure it was the Tok'ra waiting for me, hands clasped in peace where I could see. I stopped ten meters away, suddenly aware of the fetor that had run with me. Behind him steam billowed up from canisters strung out on a metal frame. 

"Everything we wanted is in the pack," I said, getting business out of the way, letting it slide from my back. "Washington came through with the goods; I passed on the list, but Hammond wasn't impressed that I was on my own." I watched him suspiciously. "And I've picked up some kind of entoparasite," I added. There was no reaction to a word Harry probably wouldn't know, so it was still Erragal in charge. 

"I thought," he began, his nose twitching as he picked up my scent, "I thought you might want to..." We'd lived together in cramped quarters for over two months, and we'd been completely professional, but now the way he looked at me, he was almost embarrassed. "Get clean while the water's still hot," he said. "You've earned it." 

"Oh?" I hesitated as I unlaced my boots. The self-assured Tok'ra, the slow, deep, calm resonance in his voice was something I'd learned to appreciate; his uncertainty confused me. 

He shrugged awkwardly. "Your training's almost over, _Captain_," he said, but he didn't smile. 

"Almost?" I asked, pulling my undershirt over my head. 

"Tomorrow we'll see if you're prepared to..." He watched uncomfortably as I removed my pants, frowning at the scars and the fresh scabs, at the sores weeping all over my body. "Tomorrow..." 

He looked up and I held his eyes for a heartbeat. I stood naked before him, and for a moment I worried that he wouldn't understand... 

... then he smiled and I laughed and ran to the makeshift shower. 


	2. In The Presence Of

She was only ever _the old Colonel_; stone-faced, cold-hearted, and a total bitch. The summons to General Hammond's office had taken me by surprise, caught me off-guard — Hammond behind his desk and the Colonel standing stiffly in her over-starched uniform, looking down her long nose at me. 

Then _he_ walked in. General Hammond had said his name was Maybourne – _Colonel_ – but then a look had passed between him and the old Colonel which suggested something more. The easy smile with which Hammond had welcomed me turned sour, and the old Colonel's thin-lipped grimace almost cracked her face. I stood at ease, eyes front, as Hammond and Colonel Maybourne exchanged not very pleasantries, re-opening old wounds. But when the Tok'ra inside Colonel Maybourne spoke, I almost jumped out of my skin. 

I'd heard Tok'ra and Goa'uld speak before — but usually on tape. Of course there was the old training device, and I'd even exchanged a few words with Selmak, but Colonel Maybourne's Tok'ra... his voice resonated so deep inside me I almost forgot where I was. 

Perhaps that was almost just as well. I'd thought I'd got used to being spoken about as if I wasn't there, but the two Colonels dissected me, discussing my fitness for what they wanted, my skills and abilities, my disciplinary record and my lack of height as if I was a piece of meat. 

Finally, General Hammond actually apologized. _"Whatever they want you to do, you can turn it down,"_ he said. _"You can walk out now, or after, and nothing will leave this room."_ He glared at both Colonels. _"If, after all they tell you, you accept the assignment – and the choice is yours – you will remain under my command. Anything – and I mean_ anything _ – untoward, and you come to me."_ Then he left the room. 

For hours the old Colonel kept me standing while grilling me about my life, my religion, my politics, picking me apart at the seams so thoroughly but telling me nothing of what they wanted me for. 

Then the Tok'ra asked me questions — disjunct, philosophical, and so far removed from anything I could have imagined even remotely relevant to any assignment. Then I saw the pattern and found myself enthralled discussing abstract convolutions of general metaphysics — until the old Colonel tired of it and interrupted us. 

The old Colonel told me what they were going to do with me, how they were going to use me. As far as General Hammond was concerned, I was to be a _liaison_ for Colonel Maybourne. As far as they were concerned, I had the raw skills to make myself useful in other areas. 

Of course I'd have to be trained first, and she took a deliberate delight in telling me precisely and graphically what the training would involve. She watched me closely for the slightest flinch as she rattled of a list of the rigors I'd have to go through to improve to an _acceptable_ standard. Even the Tok'ra had looked uncomfortable at the prospect. 

Whatever else happened, the old Colonel had said at the end, at least I'd come out of it with a promotion. It was the last thing on my mind then. 

To this day, I don't know if I said yes to prove her wrong, or to prove myself to him, to Erragal. 

It's the last thing on my mind now. 

The first thing Colonel Maybourne said when we emerged from the stargate was _"Call me Harry."_ There wasn't much to like about him; and even less as he told me his history. But Erragal was different. We could talk about anything, everything. 

What had disturbed Erragal wasn't the punishing training they were to put me through, but what they had in mind when I completed it. Still, I'm glad Harry didn't have the balls to tell me himself. Propositions don't come my way very often — not unless whoever wants a broken jaw. 

Erragal wants to blend with me as well as Harry. He wants me to know all that he is so that I can understand him, because of who is and what he was before the Tok'ra came into existence. 

Over four thousand years ago he had more than a little power of his own. As Ra came to dominate in ancient Egypt, Anu dominated in Sumer, and the Goa'uld around them struggled amongst themselves as they've always done. 

Erragal was young and proud and disrespectful, and for his discourtesy he was banished to the underworld — only to take the goddess who ruled there as his consort. They were worshiped as gods, but when the end came he fled. He trapped his consort in a stasis jar and fled, denouncing what he once was, he hid amongst the Tok'ra. 

He wants to blend with me so that I can trust him. So that when the time comes, when we find her, I will be her host. I've been given the morning during target practice to think it over. 

For centuries he'd lived thinking her to be lost to him forever. But now, with Doctor Jackson's research – and Harry's knack for ferreting out secrets – she is within his reach again. 

The choice is mine. I'm going to say yes. 

"Here, try this one. Robar SR-60." 

I was trying out new rifles. 

Four hundred meters away a dozen Jaffa were pinned out on crosses. I squeezed the trigger four times while Harry watched through binoculars. 

"You got the elbows, but you were a little low on the left knee." He handed me another rifle. "This one's Russian. I picked up a couple of these when I was out in Kazakhstan." 

I moved on to the next Jaffa. The rifles were from Harry's own personal collection, ones that he'd stashed away against a rainy day. Washington still didn't trust him completely, but he fed them intel, and in return I'd come back with these and a few more useful items. My own rifles were custom-fit for my arm and shoulder; mine were bolt-action, with a free barrel channel to reduce the harmonics, firing 168 grain slugs. 

"Hah! Perfect!" Harry almost shouted. "Do you want to try going for his wrists and ankles?" 

These were all semi-automatic, but beautiful nonetheless. Eventually, I'd modify them; my favorite 10-power Leopold Mk 4 scope was out of the question for the practice drills, but I'd fine tune myself so that I'd be equally competent left- and right-handed, prone, upright — even running. 

"Doesn't Erragal disapprove of this?" I'd never thought to ask before. Until now, all we'd had access to was standard issue rifles and staff weapons, shooting live rounds at live Jaffa for practice and to prove I could do it under any conditions. 

"Erragal is quite intrigued, actually." He paused as I let off four more rounds. "Sickened and disgusted, but intrigued. That's why you have me for company. Here..." he gave me another rifle. "Israeli. Not as accurate, but I like it. Head shot, on the first one." I frowned as the Jaffa's head exploded. "Nice, eh?" Harry chuckled. "Shame he can't grow it back, but there's still plenty left to aim at." 

I studied the remains of the Jaffa. A fountain of blood shone brightly from his neck in the morning sun. I knew the head-shot was intended to provoke a reaction in me and not the remaining Jaffa. Still, it was a harmless distraction watching their reactions as their companions died slowly and painfully; if they were allowed to die at all. Unfortunately there wasn't an endless supply, so they were usually allowed to regenerate. 

And Harry liked to think that practice made perfect. I'd run a marathon and I'd shot Jaffa; I'd been tortured and I'd shot Jaffa; I'd been beaten, electrocuted, cut open... and I'd shot Jaffa to ease my pain, to learn to be effective through my own torment. 

Yesterday... Yesterday I'd had my first hot shower in weeks. Yesterday Erragal had cleaned up my cuts and sores, purging my body of the lice and worms. Yesterday, Erragal had brushed my hair, had stretched me out on the softest bedding, had given me a massage that I'd dreamt about all night. 

I turned to Harry, lowering the rifle a fraction. He took a swig of the warm beer he always had with him and looked up at me. I smiled as I squeezed the trigger without taking my eyes off him. "You're sick, Harry, you know that?" 

He couldn't resist looking. "You don't have to prove anything to me, Hailey, I know you've got what it takes; and you don't have to prove it to yourself, either. Between us we're going to do things that will have consequences so far reaching that we have to be certain of absolutely everything. One weakness... one weakness is all it takes." Harry crossed his legs. "Nice shot, by the way." 

"You're still holding out on me." I knew what Erragal wanted from me, but not what Harry hoped for. 

"Would you believe I have a heart?" 

"After all that you've done to me? Those damned devices may put me back together, but the memories don't go away. Oh, it gets less intimidating after a while, but if you had one, and I could rip it out? Try stopping me." 

He laughed, clutching at his chest, pouting like an old drama queen. "Had they known – had they trusted her – Hammond could have saved Jolinar." I groaned as Harry returned to the the failings of General Hammond and the SGC. But it always boiled down to trust. "It will mean there are no secrets between us. It will mean..." 

"I get to know every despicable, detestable, disgraceful..." I'd lifted the rifle back up, squeezing the trigger as I spoke, obliterating hands and feet. "_Disgusting_..." I looked him up and down — I'd already emasculated the dead Jaffa. I looked at him, desperately hoping to keep the pity out of my voice. "The answer's _yes_, Harry," I said. "But it's Erragal I want, not you." 

To his credit, he kept his chin up. Then he snorted on his beer, a wide grin split his face and he laughed. "Y'know," he said. "No one's ever wanted me for my body." 

Back at the SGC, when Hammond had warned me, and when Erragal had looked at me, I knew there would be a greater price. I'd had no idea then how great it would be; and neither had Harry nor Erragal. 

Harry closed his eyes for a second, but I saw the glow, I saw the other persona emerge. "Jennifer?" 

His voice shook me as it always did, but the way he said my name – _my name_ – almost broke me. I was young, I was proud, I was disrespectful; I was not going to be a host to be used. "The answer is yes," I repeated. "But I want to _know_ you as I am now." I put the rifle down; I knelt beside him and took his hands in mine. "I want to _know_ you _first_. 

I was young, I was proud, I was disrespectful — I was a virgin. 

There really was no turning back. He caught the emphasis; he understood it. I laughed weakly at Erragal's surprise. Everything had been leading to this moment. 

Almost. 

On a white canvas beneath a white canopy, under a white sun on an alien world with an ancient parasite, I was supposed to share my body not just as a host but also as more than a lover. 

I learned then the differences between the little deaths I allowed myself and the true pleasure that could be shared. The morning became afternoon, the afternoon gave way to twilight as the sun set, as we lay together. 

And yet all this was a prelude, anticipating the moment of blending, the certainty of knowing another as deeply as ones own self. I had seen a glimpse of it, but nothing could prepare me for the reality. 

Our lips touched for the briefest of moments. Myriad epiphanies shattered like crystal – _I closed my eyes as Erragal spoke to me_ – a kaleidescope of dazzling fragments – _the pain and suffering of generations of hosts_ – needles of ice lacerating my mind – _Goa'uld atrocities even the SGC couldn't know_ – piercing my heart the ache – _the complex ideology of the Tok'ra_ – at soul's center of – _his love_ – kindred desire awakening. 

Then he showed me who he really was and what we could achieve together... 


End file.
